


Heathens (Take It Slow)

by LadyNobleSong



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-20 22:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9518465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNobleSong/pseuds/LadyNobleSong
Summary: They had one thing in common, at the very least: neither of them could bear to look atthatface anymore.-Perhaps, against all odds, they could help each other heal.





	1. Landfill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FeoplePeel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeoplePeel/gifts).



> (For the lovely, ever-incredible Alex. ♡)  
> ((Also, a very happy birthday to FeoplePeel - an infinitely better writer than I’ll ever be, and a wonderful person. ☼))
> 
> Disclaimer: These characters belong to J.K. Rowling; I'm just borrowing them. 
> 
> This is a short collection of snippets from Credence's and Percival's complicated interactions in the wake of Grindelwald's unmasking.  
>   
> It will be four chapters long, each inspired by a different song. I'm hoping to update every other day.  
> Chapter 1 takes after 'Landfill', by Daughter. 
> 
> In advance, thank you very much for reading!  
> (Reviews taste even sweeter than cocoa.)  
>   
> Hugs,  
> Wil. ♥

** Part I **

_Well this is torturous electricity,_

_Between both of us, and this is,_

_Dangerous, 'cause I want you so much-_

_But I hate your guts. I want you so much-_

_But I hate your guts._

Landfill – Daughter

* * *

 

‘Are you sure you’re okay with this, Credence?’ Tina asked again, her voice soft and gentle. ‘Just say the word, and—’

Credence swallowed, trying to ignore the threatening tattoo of his heart against his chest. He clenched his fists, moist fingers against moister palms, and took a deep, slow breath.

‘It’s—alright, Miss Goldstein,’ he replied after a beat. ‘Thank you.’

A hesitant press of Newt’s hand against his shoulder helped him breathe with a little more ease. He straightened up, keeping his unwavering gaze fixed on the door.

‘Okay,’ Tina whispered, trying her best to mask her own doubts. ‘You can bring him in, Queenie.’

The door opened to reveal Queenie’s light frame and honey blonde curls, followed closely by a darker figure, which seemed somewhat curled up on itself.

When the stranger stepped into the light, time seemed to suspend its course for a moment.

And then the man looked up, and Credence felt something heavy drop at the bottom of his stomach.

It was _him_. Percival Graves.

‘You—’ Credence whispered in between clenched teeth before he could stop himself. The dark, menacing creature coiled up inside him at all times let out a low, threatening growl. Queenie took a step backwards.

‘Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all—’ Tina began, her hand wrapping around her former mentor’s shoulder, guiding him back toward the door with unmistakable intent.

‘I told you I was the last person he would want to see,’ Graves answered, his tone heavy with frustration and with something else, which sounded eerily like disappointment.

At the sound of the voice he had known – and longed for – for so long, Credence felt a shiver start at the top of his nape and run along his spine, all the way down to his tailbone. Eyes closed, he breathed in, then out.

‘Wait,’ Credence uttered after a few seconds, his voice surprisingly steady. ‘Let me talk to him.’

‘Credence, I’m not sure—’

‘I’m okay, Miss Goldstein,’ he interrupted with kindness. ‘I can do this—I _want_ to.’

Reluctantly, Tina released the Auror’s shoulder, stepping aside silently.

Credence took a few hesitant steps forward, stopping right under the single ceiling pendant. The white light felt crude and unforgiving upon his skin, and he could feel his shoulders beginning to curl back inward, little by little.

There was much to be said, and yet the too-sharp words seemed to be stuck down his throat, threatening to scratch and cut the flesh on their way out.

‘Mr Barebone?’ Percival eventually asked, his tone warm yet unsure.

Just for a moment, Credence was grateful for the man’s words.

Perhaps he had sensed the boy’s inner turmoil—after all, Grindelwald had always seemed incredibly skilled at that.

‘Mr Graves,’ Credence whispered back, pointedly avoiding the other man’s gaze. He could feel the Auror’s eyes on him, seeking his. He refused to give in.

‘I’m—sorry,’ Percival said kindly, seemingly unsure of how to address the young man he had once almost befriended. ‘For everything that happened.’

Credence remained silent, unreadable.

‘For everything he did— _I_ did to you,’ he completed after a beat.

At these words, something in Credence’s chest suddenly began tearing itself apart. He could almost hear the wounded cries of the dark creature wrapped around his heart: loud, pitiful, and oddly reminiscent of his own sobs. 

Without thinking, he looked up at the sorrow-ridden face before him, at the infinitely soft and gentle traits he had been seeking for so long. But all he could see was Grindelwald, staring right back at him.

He fell to his knees, scorching tears running alongside his hollow cheeks.

How he hated that face.

_How he’d loved that face._

Silently, Graves kneeled down until they were at eye-level. He kept his head bent down, however, avoiding Credence’s eyes in turn.

His hair was just as dark, and just as enticing as Credence remembered.

Something twisted in the boy’s stomach; he felt sick.

‘I’m sorry, Credence,’ the Auror repeated, in a whisper no one else would hear. He waited, then placed a tentative hand upon the young man’s trembling, twisting fingers.

His touch was so light Credence wondered if he was there at all.

_He had given the man who wore this face everything he had, everything he was. He’d devoted every miserable remnant of his life to him, in a desperate attempt to be loved in return._

_It had never been enough—_ he _had never been enough._

And still, _still_ , Credence wanted him.

_____

He felt a warm tear crash upon his wrist. He couldn’t even tell if it was his own.


	2. Genghis Khan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! 
> 
> Thank you for the great feedback you've been giving me thus far; I love you all. ☺  
> Chapter 2 is inspired by 'Genghis Khan' by Miike Snow. 
> 
> Hot cocoa and hugs all around,  
> Wil. ♥

** Part II  **

_I know there's no form,_

_And no labels to put on,_

_To this thing we keep,_

_And dip into when we need._

_And I don't have the right,_

_To ask where you go at night._

_But the waves hit my head,_

_To think someone's in your bed._

Genghis Khan – Miike Snow

* * *

He had begun to teach the boy magic.

After everything that had happened because of his own carelessness, it was the very least Percival could do.

The man who wore his face had told Credence that he was weak. That he could never be taught.

(Queenie had refused to disclose anything more to him, and he understood. Still, when he thought about how much damage Grindelwald had inflicted, he couldn’t help but seethe with rage.)

He’d been wrong—obviously.

Graves’s only doubt was whether he was skilled enough to teach someone with so much potential, and so much raw power.

The best he could do was try.

At the very least, it would keep him distracted from his own demons for a while.

_____

Credence would come up every other afternoon, sometimes escorted by Tina, sometimes by the young Scamander. When it was the latter, Graves always seemed to grow a little more tense. That day was no exception.

It wasn’t that he didn’t feel fondness for Newt—he did.

But there was something in the wizard’s quick eyes and prudent demeanour that sometimes made Percival feel like he was, yet again, the enemy.

It was as though he were a cornered beast, guilty of some terrible, unspoken crime that everybody but him had witnessed, and refused to speak of.  

(Some days, he almost wished he would remember.)

Both men greeted Graves politely, and the Auror was pleased to note Credence’s tone sounded a little more assured than usual.   

Newt gave the younger man’s shoulders a squeeze before letting him go. Graves watched them silently; something in his stomach twisted. He ignored it.

Perhaps his unease with Mr Scamander had something to do with the way Credence would cling to his arm – or to his sleeve – without the slightest trace of hesitation or fear. He didn’t want to think about that just yet.

Besides, he couldn’t blame the boy.

To Credence, his face would forever be that of a tormentor, of a man he had trusted with everything—and who had done nothing for him in return but keep him in the clutch of an abusive family, for months on end.

Yet some days, Percival caught himself wishing Credence would, just once, look at him without dread in his eyes.

‘How’s my wrist?’ the young man asked under his breath moments later, as he practiced his shield charms diligently.

The Auror knew the spell was a touch too advanced for a wizard with so little experience—but after what the boy had gone through recently, he would take no chances.

‘Much better than last time,’ Graves replied gruffly. ‘But your posture’s not good,’ he added, stepping towards Credence. ‘Your legs are too close together—it compromises your balance.’

To prove his point, he gave the young man’s back a gentle push, sending him stumbling to the side.

‘See?’

‘Yes,’ Credence replied after a bit. He resumed the position, widening his stance slightly.

‘Good,’ Graves commented. ‘Now, try again.’

‘Protego!’

A thin wisp of colourless smoke flew out of Credence’s wand and swirled between the two men for a moment, before dissolving into thin air. The young man was so surprised he let the wand slip from his fingers, and clatter upon the floor.

‘Excellent, Credence!’ the Auror exclaimed before he could think better of it.

Admittedly, it wasn’t quite the blast of energy the spell should normally have created, but the young man’s progress kept on exceeding his expectations in every possible way.

Credence turned to Graves, the ghost of a smile grazing his lips for the first time in weeks.

‘How was that?’

‘Much better,’ Percival replied, reaching Credence in a few strides. ‘You must have felt it yourself.’

‘I think—maybe?’

‘Good. Now all you require is regular practice,’ he added encouragingly. His left hand was ghosting over the boy’s shoulder, not quite daring to touch it.

Credence straightened his neck to look at him, silent yet unmistakably expectant. When their eyes met, the thing within Graves’s stomach began twisting again, like a heavy serpent coiling slowly around his gut.

Swirling within Credence’s dark eyes, laced with pent-up grief and caged anger, Graves saw _want_ — raw, fleeting, unabashed.

For a moment, he could read the boy’s every feature clearly; he saw every open wound and every whitening scar, every undisclosed craving and every unspoken word.

Above all, the need for something. For _someone_.

And that someone wasn’t him. That much was clear.

These feelings had been ignited by the man who wore his face, and it was him Credence sought now; it was his face he hoped to rekindle through Percival’s traits.

Credence kept on looking right through him.

‘Let’s try again, one more time,’ Graves eventually requested, forcing himself to keep the noxious thoughts at bay. He moved to stand behind Credence. ‘Improving your stance will make the spell more efficient. Pretend you’re wielding a shield— it helps.’

Realising the boy had begun hunching again, Percival reached out, gently attempting to pull Credence’s shoulders outward.

‘Don’t be afraid to stand tall,’ he continued, his voice barely above a whisper.

Credence remained silent, leaning back into Graves’s embrace almost imperceptibly.

‘You deserve to be seen.’

With his neck outstretched, the boy was just a touch taller than Graves. He’d taken a step backwards, his shoulders almost brushing against Percival’s chest.

The Auror’s hands fell to his elbows, pulling him in slowly. If Credence wanted to be held, who was he to deny him?

So what if it weren’t his touch, _his_ embrace the young man was truly seeking? He could pretend, just for a moment. He would, for Credence’s sake—how he felt didn’t matter.

(He wondered if people would ever notice the difference. They hadn’t, before.)

His fondness for the boy would just have to be another thing Grindelwald had wrested away from him. Another fleeting speck of contentment; twisted, vitiated— gone.

He would have to bear it.  

But he would allow himself to be soothed by Credence’s half-embrace for a moment longer.

_____

The session was over, but Percival had decided to wait for Newt’s arrival before disapparating.

He was observing, a little awestricken, the meticulous care with which Credence proceeded to pocket his wand back, when the young man suddenly broke the silence.

‘Mr Graves—’

Credence had spoken under his breath, in a tone Percival dared not decipher.

‘Thank you. For being nothing like him.’

At these words, the vice in Graves’s chest finally loosened its grip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> Chapter 3 will be up shortly - it will be based on 'Heathens' by 21 Pilots.
> 
> Squishes,  
> Wil.


	3. Heathens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies, 
> 
> Once again, thank you for all the kudos and feedback so far- you deserve all the love and cocoa.  
> Chapter 3 is inspired by 'Heathens' by 21 Pilots, I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Have a great weekend,  
> Wil. x

** Part III  **

_Welcome to the room of people,_

_Who have rooms of people that they loved one day, docked away._

_Just because we check the guns at the door,_

_Doesn't mean our brains will change from hand grenades._

_You're lovin' on the psychopath sitting next to you,_

_You're lovin' on the murderer sitting next to you,_

_You’ll think, ‘How did I get here, sitting next to you?’_

_But after all I've said, please don't forget…_

Heathens – Twenty-One Pilots

* * *

 

Credence was entirely focused on the apple in his hand, peeling it with application with a little silver knife, under Queenie Goldstein’s watchful eyes.

The first time she had served him strudel – something he’d never had before – Credence had found more words to thank her than she could recall him ever saying in the past.

She had offered to teach him how to bake, then; and that had been the first time she had seen a genuine smile lighten the boy’s gaunt features.  

They had been practicing together regularly since that day, with and without magic, and Queenie found herself revelling in the experience.

Learning how to bake the no-maj way somehow made her feel close to Jacob, whom she missed more dearly every day. And she enjoyed Credence’s company; he was one of the very few people able to surprise a Legilimens such as her.

All of a sudden, there was a loud crack as Tina materialised in the adjoining room, mussed hair seeming to float around her face.

Credence watched as an apple slice slipped from Queenie’s fingers and landed right into the bowl on the kitchen counter.

The witch didn’t seem to notice, however. By the time Credence looked up, the blonde woman had already reached her sister, and was gently linking their hands together.

‘Teenie—is it true?’ Queenie asked quietly, leading her sister to an armchair nearby before helping her down.

The unexpected question sent a cold shiver down Credence’s spine. Queenie usually always knew.

Another crack.

Newt’s tall and gangly silhouette emerged in turn, and Credence barely had time to register how noticeably paler the ginger-haired man looked, before he found himself swept into a hurried yet affectionate embrace.

Something had happened, Credence realised with dread. Something _bad_.

After a third and final crack, Percival Graves appeared in the lobby, the lapels of his heavy coat swishing around him.

‘Goldstein, Scamander,’ he greeted flatly, his voice coarser than Credence remembered. ‘Please forgive my intrusion, but—’

Percival stopped mid-sentence, as he caught sight of Credence in the corner of his eye.

‘He’s fine,’ he breathed out, to no one in particular.

In a few strides, he had reached Credence’s side, and his hands were upon the boy’s face, gentle and hesitant—as if he could barely believe he was there at all.

A calloused thumb brushed against his temple, and that’s when Credence understood.

He took a step back, his hip bumping against the kitchen counter.

His eyes fell upon Tina across the room, and the pain and concern he found painted upon her features only confirmed his darkest fears.

Deep within his chest, the creature he’d spent the last few months attempting to tame began growling.

He fled.

_____

Percival found him in the Goldstein’s attic, curled up into the furthest corner of the room, hardly visible at all.

He let out a breath, relieved to find out that Credence hadn’t run too far, and still looked in relative control over his emotions.  

(Should he have gotten hurt, Tina would never have forgiven him. It had already been quite a struggle to convince her to stay put whilst he went after the boy.)

Graves slowly stepped closer to Credence, unsure of how to act. The latter was still half-hidden behind the peak of his knees, and refused to look up.

Scamander would know what to do, Percival realised, a twinge of guilt pervading his chest.

He got as close to Credence as he thought safe for the both of them, then crouched down slowly.

‘Credence?’ he called gingerly.

The young man remained silent, crying quietly into the cradle of his knees. His shoulderline had begun to blur, Percival realised with a start. A thick layer of dark mist seemed to be rising from the boy’s back, sprouting small tendrils of grey smoke which curled and uncurled around him.

‘He escaped,’ Credence said suddenly, more a statement than a question.

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘I—felt it, I think,’ he continued, hesitant. He lifted his head, pointedly avoiding the Auror’s piercing glance. ‘Right there,’ he added, two fingers tapping lightly against his buttonhole.

Without even needing to look, Graves knew what Credence was referring to.

The necklace—the one Grindelwald had entrusted him with.

Tina had found it – wrapped tightly around Credence’s hand – within a dimly lit alley, as she and Newt combed through the streets of New York in the vain hope of finding what was left of the boy.

For weeks on end, Credence had refused to part with the cursed jewel, despite Tina’s relentless efforts to convince him. He wouldn’t say why, and no one dared to press.

Only after the pendant had begun eating into his flesh, turning his skin a gruesome shade of purple, had Credence accepted to pass it down to the President. 

A scar still remained upon his sternum, in the shape of a perfect triangle.

‘He might not still be after you,’ Percival offered kindly.

‘But he might be.’

Credence looked away, twisting his lean fingers together.

‘Sorry,’ he added shortly after. ‘I—’

‘No; you’re right,’ Percival interrupted. ‘I won’t lie to you. But it’s not the same now—you’re no longer alone. Scamander, Tina, Queenie – that baker she’s so smitten with – they all care about you. So do I.’

Credence glanced at him briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

‘Besides, Modesty is in safe hands. Nothing will happen to her.’

The boy didn’t look any better for it, Graves noted with disappointment. He had never been good at this—always too cold, too rational.

‘What if he comes after me again?’ Credence asked after some time. ‘How will I know?’

He looked up at the Auror, shame and guilt agitating his features.

‘I—didn’t realise, last time.’

‘No one did,’ Graves replied without a beat, bitterness distorting his words. ‘Grindelwald is very skilled a pretender.’

The spirals of smoke rising from Credence’s back seemed to grow darker at Percival’s words. The boy was still on edge, walking the thin line between control and collapse.

‘You won’t,’ Graves added, almost as an afterthought. ‘As long as you remember you should never have to trade _anything_ for affection.’

Credence nodded back, imperceptibly.

‘Affection is given freely,’ Graves concluded in a sigh. Going against his earlier concerns, he reached out to Credence once more, wiping a stray tear off his cheekbone.

The contact sparked a warm tingle at the base of Graves’s thumb, which began travelling slowly up his arm. He wasn’t expecting it, and so removed his fingers from Credence’s face.

With difficulty, he dragged himself into a sitting position and moved to the young man’s side, leaning next to him against the bleak grey wall.

‘Are you going to tell me everything will be okay?’ Credence asked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

(It made Percival smile, briefly.)

He debated lying for a moment, before deciding to stick with the truth.

‘No. At this stage we can only hope.’

Graves watched carefully as Credence began to unravel once more. The tendrils of smoke were growing more aggressive by the minute, coiling tightly around the boy’s limbs.

Credence’s left hand was curled into a fist, pressing harshly against his chest, where the pendant once had been. It was impossible to miss the tears welling up in his eyes.

Graves knew he couldn’t begin to fathom the turmoil taking place within the younger man. The only things he could provide were company and honesty—a far cry from comfort.

Still, Percival thought, the boy had suffered through more than enough people attempting to fill his head with lies; he would not add this to the growing list of his crimes.

‘You miss him,’ he stated kindly, inviting Credence to elaborate.

The young man shook his head noncommittally.

‘You cared for him, didn’t you?’ he asked, hoping his tone conveyed that he wouldn’t judge Credence either way.

‘I loved him.’

Percival turned his head to Credence, a little surprised by the abruptness of the acknowledgment.

‘He knew how to get to me,’ the young man continued. ‘He did everything right. Said all the things I wanted to hear. And I believed him.’ His voice caught in his throat. ‘I should have known better.’

Graves replied before he could wonder what the MACUSA would have to say about him circulating such critical information.

‘No. If Albus Dumbledore – one of the greatest sorcerers of our generation – admittedly didn’t know better, then how could you have been expected to?’

Credence had never heard the name before, but Graves’s words soothed him all the same.

‘Besides,’ the Auror continued, ‘he is very charismatic. It’s no wonder people liked him better than me.’

The undertones of self-loathing in his voice were unmistakable. 

Both men fell into silence, still sat side by side, their bodies connected from hip to shoulder.

‘Percival?’ Credence asked timidly, after some time.

The older man couldn’t help the jolt in his chest at the use of his first name. After months of training together, it felt like progress.

‘Do you remember when you told me about boggarts?’

Graves nodded, unsure what Credence meant.

‘They assume the form of whatever scares us most, is that right?’

The Auror gave another sharp nod, his shoulders tensing. He was starting to have a clearer idea of what Credence was getting at, and he did not like it one bit.

‘Credence, I’m not sure it would be such a—’

‘I need to see him,’ Credence interrupted, categorical.

Graves’s lips narrowed into a thin, disapproving line. He attempted to ignore the sharp pang in his chest.

‘I need to see how _it_ behaves,’ the young wizard continued, as understanding slowly dawned upon Percival. ‘I don’t want to lose control. Not again.’

With a reluctant sigh, Percival agreed. There was something about Credence’s newfound, quiet assertiveness that he wanted to encourage more than anything.  

‘I’ll be right back,’ he told Credence, before disapparating out of the room.

_____

It was just Percival’s luck that his department would have intercepted any such creature just a week prior, and had it kept within the premises.

As he tucked the wooden box under his arm, he wondered how long this particular incident could be kept from the MACUSA’S prying eyes.

(Well—it had taken them several months and an Obscurus attack to realise an imposter had borrowed the skin of their Head of Security, so perhaps there was no need to worry.)

When Percival apparated back into the Goldsteins’ Brownstone, Credence seemed not had not moved at all.

‘Alright, Credence. Do you remember the spells we practiced together?’

The young man nodded nervously.

‘If at any time, you feel like your Obscurus is going to take over, move away and let me intervene. And Credence, remember—there’s no shame in being afraid.’

With a tap of his hand against the box, Graves released the boggart.

It swirled within the room for a moment, before stopping in front of Credence in order to take shape.

However, it soon became evident that the figure materialising before both men was not that of Gellert Grindelwald.

No—the menacing silhouette walking up to Credence, a leather belt wrapped tightly around one hand, belonged to no other than Mary Lou Barebone.  

Alarmed, Percival turned to Credence, ready to step in.

The boy was in a state of utter shock: his hand was curled so tightly around his wand that his knuckles had turned white, and his back seemed to have partially dissolved into a mass of dark, smoky matter.

And yet, he had not faltered yet. He was holding Mary Lou’s gaze steadily, shouldered squared, ready to pounce. His posture was almost threatening, Graves realised as he found himself fighting the urge to step back.

‘Mr Graves,’ the boy asked between clenched teeth. ‘What do I—’

‘Hang on,’ the Auror replied, springing into action. ‘Let me.’

He placed himself between the boy and the boggart, forcing Mary Lou’s eyes to meet his. The second after, her body had dissipated into the air, to be replaced by a taller, broader figure altogether.  

Gellert Grindelwald.

The dark wizard flashed Graves a cruel smile; one he had seen so many times in the past. He reached out, cupping Percival’s chin possessively, tilting his head up until he was sure to have an attentive audience.

‘Mr Graves,’ Grindelwald soughed, his tone almost seductive. ‘What a pleasure to see you again. Or, should I say—to see _me_ again.’

One by one, his features began to morph into Percival’s, until the latter was faced with an exact reflection of himself, identical but for the malevolent glint in his eyes.

Boggart or not, Graves spat in his face.

‘Save your breath,’ Grindelwald continued, his words now colder, harsher. ‘You’re going to need it to call for your precious Credence. Although—I doubt he will ever want to see your face again, once I’m done with him.’ 

At these words, Graves turned to Credence, his jaw clenched tighter than the boy had ever seen it.

‘He chose me for a reason,’ Percival told him, a justification that sounded like an apology. 

The words, however cryptic, were the confirmation of something Credence never dared hope for.

They spurred him on as he stepped in to shield Graves, moved by something perhaps as powerful as anger—the need to protect this man.

The first charm he cast, albeit imperfect, was so charged with power it sent Percival toppling to the side. The ones that followed, while not inflicting any damage onto the boggart, were precise and effective enough to keep both men safe.

However, for each curse that bounced against Credence’s protective spell and shattered against the nearby walls, there was another ripple, another crack in the boy’s careful control, through which the Obscurus threatened to spill.

The tendrils of smoke, swollen and truculent, remained bridled by Credence’s will just long enough for him to disapparate – as Graves had instructed him to – his hand firmly clasped around the Auror’s fingers.

(So what if Graves had never said anything about _that_.)

They reappeared just outside the room, halfway across the corridor. Credence seemed to have left no part of his body behind, which in itself was already quite an achievement.  

Percival was on his feet the second after, unable to keep a fond smile from grazing his lips. Credence really was a wonder to behold.

Throwing his customary caution to the wind, he strode up to the boy, moved by the firm intent of finally allowing himself to wrap his arms around him. For one thing, Credence had more than deserved it.

However, just as he was about to pull the young man against him, he felt something icy brush past his ankle. The second after, Modesty’s body was splayed on the floor between them, pale and lifeless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, y'all are wonderful. ♥  
> Huggles, Wil. 
> 
> PS: Chapter 4 will be up soon - I hope you'll forgive me for leaving you on a cliffhanger! It will be set in direct continuation of Chapter 3, and inspired by Elton John's song 'The Panic in Me.'


	4. The Panic in Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo folks!
> 
> Millions of thank-yous to the sweet souls who left kudos & comments on this story; you're all absolute peaches!  
> Extra squishes to @Alex and @FeoplePeel, for always being so kind and encouraging- I love you guys! 
> 
> Chapter 4 is inspired by 'The Panic in Me' by Elton John; I hope you enjoy it! Besides, I highly recommend checking out the song if you don't know it yet- I find it lovely.
> 
> Hugs to each and every one of you,  
> Wil. ♥

** Part IV  **

_In the trials of the present, no matter how low,_

_You bring me such peace, and you won't let me go._

_For when you are laughing, like silver, like rain—_

_You cool me, you soothe me, and love me again._

_For a few perfect hours, the world lets me be,_

_You know how to break down—_

_The panic in me._

The Panic in Me – Elton John

* * *

 

Credence sank to his knees before his sister’s corpse, a hollow wail rising steadily from his throat. Tendrils of smoke and dark flesh began swirling around his head, slow and predatory.

‘Credence,’ Percival whispered, taking a step back despite himself.

Modesty’s body dissolved into the air, promptly replaced by Queenie’s thin figure, a halo of honey blonde curls spread around her head.

‘Credence—it’s not real.’

The young man didn’t look up. His pupils were blown, fixed on the bodies morphing endlessly before him.

Jacob. Tina. Newt.

Soon, Percival found himself staring at his own corpse. On the side of his face, the skin was blemished and shattered—the mark of an Obscurus.

Credence – or rather, the _thing_ inside him – let out a howl of pain.

Graves could only watch, transfixed, as the boy dragged himself to the corpse that wasn’t one, cupping the side of its head with trembling fingers, pressing his forehead against its brow.

Credence’s head snapped up suddenly, and when he glared at Percival, there was raw hatred simmering in his eyes, just under the surface of his tears.

 _He had seen all of this before,_ Graves realised with dread.

The boy kept on staring at him in silence, waiting for Grindelwald to stare back.

‘Credence,’ he tried again, as softly as he could muster.

The boy’s body was growing less substantial by the minute, retracting behind the dark volutes of smoke slowly closing in on him.

Percival realised he was afraid—not of Credence, but _for_ him. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest and, for a moment, he remembered why it had always been easier not to care.

(In any case, it was certainly too late for that now.)

He crouched down before the remnants of Credence’s corporeal form, unsure of which course of action to adopt. He who had always taken pride in his proficiency under pressure, now found himself at an utter and undeniable loss.

He fought the urge to move closer, Newt’s distant words echoing in his mind.

_Stay away. Don’t let him see you as a threat._

Percival complied.

 _Words help_ , Tina had mentioned one night, as he pressed her for more information on the months Grindelwald had taken from him. _He listens_.

Percival had never been a man of many words, that much he knew. However, the stakes were too high for him not to try.

 ‘Credence,’ Graves said once more, the name starting to sound foreign as it rolled off his tongue. ‘This isn’t real. None of it is.’

To prove his point, he discarded the boggart with a flick of his wand. The boy’s eyes only narrowed further.

‘Everyone is safe, Credence,’ Graves insisted. ‘Modesty, Newt, Tina—they’re all safe. You didn’t hurt anyone.’

At these words, the low growl of the Obscurus seemed to halt, just for a second.

‘You didn’t hurt anyone,’ Percival repeated, softer still. ‘It’s alright, Credence—you’re alright. I’ve got you.’

Credence remained silent, curling a little tighter upon himself. His Obscurus had grown to fill the entire room.

‘The pain won’t last, I promise. Just keep breathing,’ Percival lulled.  ‘I’m right here with you—I’ve got you.’

In the back of his mind, Graves couldn’t help but wonder if he wasn’t doing more harm than good. No matter how gentle and soothing he wished his words to be—when they left his mouth, they all rang like orders.

Even then, he kept on trying.

‘You’re strong, Credence; don’t let it take you.’

Did he sound like _him_?

(What would he have said?)

Graves wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Something warm and wet rolled along his cheek, taking him aback slightly.

The only other time he could remember crying had been with Grindelwald, after the curses – and the _words_ – had become too much to endure.

Suddenly, Credence let out a sound that was halfway between a sob and a groan, snapping Percival out of his trance.

There had to be something more he could do.

_____

Wittingly refusing to think of the many ways this could possibly go wrong, he reached for Credence – or rather, what was left of him – his hands coming to cup the boy’s sharp cheekbones with infinite care.

There was very little flesh left to grasp, Graves noted with apprehension. However, the mere contact of Credence’s skin against his own was enough to make him wince with pain.

His first instinct was to recoil; he only resisted with great effort, tightening his jaw to keep himself from crying out. Instead, he pulled Credence in closer.

It felt as though liquid fire was pouring through his veins. The skin at the back of his hands was taut to the point of breaking, threatening to crack open at any given moment.

Yet he refused to let go.

The pressure of his fingers upon Credence’s temples appeared to have momentarily halted the growth of the Obscurus, so Percival decided to keep following his gut instinct.

He leaned forward to press his forehead against the boy’s, ignoring yet another sharp burst of pain as their brows came into contact.

He knew it was of prime importance to keep talking to Credence, and so he did. Perhaps, if he found the right words, he could remind him of who he was—anchor him back into reality.

In any case, it was worth a shot.

Percival took a deep, slow breath, and closed his eyes.

‘You’re Credence Barebone,’ he said, firm yet gentle. ‘You’re a wizard.’

The pain pulsing through his forehead seemed to dull slightly, although he couldn’t say for sure.

‘You have a younger sister. Her name is Modesty, and you care about her very much.’

The dark tendrils obscuring Credence’s face appeared to be shrinking—or thinning, perhaps. 

‘You enjoy tending to Scamander’s occamies, and baking apple strudels with Queenie Goldstein.’

Behind the thick screen of smoke, Credence’s shoulderline was beginning to take shape.

‘Your favourite book is a leather-bound copy of _The Scarlet Letter_. It was a present from Tina.’

The shadows around Credence looked to be retracting slowly, curling inward in a familiar motion; one Graves had witnessed in the boy’s shoulders many times before.

‘You purchased your wand from Ollivander’s, in London. Thirteen inches, hawthorn and phoenix feather, I believe.’

The pale veil over Credence’s pupils was melting away, replaced by the glimmer of heavy tears. They brushed lightly against Percival’s fingers as they rolled off his cheeks, whilst the boy waged an ongoing battle against himself.

 ‘The first spell you mastered was Episkey. You always wanted to be able to heal people,’ Graves added with fondness.

Graves felt relief wash over him as Credence eventually appeared to revert to his body. His hands were still ghosting lightly over the young man’s temples, fingers sweeping slowly against them.

‘I care about you,’ he concluded, his voice a breathless rasp.

After a few suspended moments of respite, Credence’s eyes flew open, and he pulled away from Graves’s touch with unmistakable urgency.

‘Credence—hello,’ the Auror whispered quietly, another rare smile softening his harsh features. ‘How do you feel?’

A wave of fear and panic seemed to wash over Credence’s face as he slowly began piecing things together.

‘What happened? Are you—did I hurt you?’

In his hurry to assess the damage he had caused, Credence all but stumbled gracelessly towards the older man. The strain on his body was almost enough for it to finally cave in, and he was forced to clutch at the lapels of Percival’s coat not to collapse.

He reached for the Auror’s face with unsteady fingers, cupping his jaw, his cheekbones, his temples. His fingertips ghosted lightly over the sides of the man’s neck before carefully running through his slick hair, dreading to stumble across dried blood or wounded flesh.

He looked almost stunned to find neither.

Be that as it may, Credence refused to let the other man pull away just yet, keeping a featherlight thumb hooked just below his chin.

‘I’m okay, Credence,’ Percival assured with a soft chuckle. ‘I’m alright.’

The boy kept on staring at him in bewilderment.

‘You did it—you came back,’ he added, his voice vibrant with equal parts pride and relief.

As he spoke, Credence’s eyes dropped to his scarred palms; he took in a sharp breath at the sight. Too late, Graves curled his fingers over the damaged patches of skin, in an attempt to hide them.

‘I hurt you,’ Credence stated flatly.

‘It’s just a few burn marks—nothing I haven’t seen before,’ Percival replied without a beat.

Still, it was enough for Credence to remove his fingers from the other man’s jaw, a stricken look upon his face. 

He moved to fold his hands away, before deciding to wrap them around Percival’s wrists instead, in a touch so gentle the latter barely felt anything. 

Credence tugged forward, just a little, until he could bring their joined hands to rest together into his lap.

Without a word, he ran the tip of his fingers against Percival’s injured palms several times, the motions slow and careful.

Graves could only watch, mesmerised, as his skin slowly began to mend. By the time Credence lifted his hands away, the scars upon the tissue were scarcely visible at all.

Wandless, voiceless magic.

(He had never taught him _that_.)

'Thank you,' he whispered.

Still gazing down at their entwined hands, Credence spoke next.

'You did this for me—the first time I met you.' He paused. 'The _real_ you. Do you remember?'

Graves gave a silent nod, his fingers brushing lightly against Credence's chapped knuckles, revelling at the feeling of returned warmth.

'There's not a day go by that I don't think of it.'

He wanted to do _something—_ he wanted to pull Credence flush against him, he wanted to wrap his arms around him, he wanted to thread his fingers through his enticing curls.   

He wanted to kiss him.

He wanted. _He wanted._

He didn’t dare.

In the end, it was Credence who took the lead. His hands returned to Percival's cheekbones, tracing soothing yet insistent circles against the skin.

Graves's eyes met Credence's—they now seemed browner, softer. He was surprised to find a question simmering in them; one he had never dared hope to be asked.

'May I?' Credence asked tentatively.

Graves eyed him intently, remaining utterly silent until he finally, _finally_ beckoned Credence with a single, pointed nod.

The moment after, Credence's lips were on him- soft, pliant, beguiling. Fleeting.

Far too early, they were gone, leaving both men wanting.

Graves looked up, and something in his chest twisted painfully when he caught a brief hint of doubt in Credence's eyes.

_He still didn’t think he was good enough._

(How wrong he was.)

‘Would you let me?' Percival asked in turn, his voice softer than he’d ever heard it be before. Gently, he hooked two fingers to the dip just below Credence’s ear, resisting the urge to pull him back in just yet.

Credence nodded, and Percival barely had the time to catch the corner of his smile before returning his mouth to his lips, brushing against them time and again with infinite carefulness.

He felt Credence sigh against him, releasing an emotion long caught in his throat.

Percival smiled into the kiss. He could feel every hesitant press of Credence’s tongue against the barrier of his lips, making him lightheaded.

For a moment, he allowed himself to stop thinking.

_____

This, at least, was something Grindelwald would never take from them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for this story!  
> Thank you once again for following along; I really hope you enjoyed reading it. ☺ 
> 
> Despite a rather insane schedule, I'm hoping to write and publish more for this pairing - let me know if there's anything in particular you'd like to read! 
> 
> Warm hugs to y'all,  
> Wil. x

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading - you guys are lovely.  
> Much love,  
> Wil.
> 
> PS: Chapter 2 should be up in a couple days; it'll be inspired by Miike Snow's 'Genghis Khan'. ☺


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